The Wandering Jew — Complete eBook

By a spontaneous impulse, Rose and Blanche ran to
the door, and opened it to the young girl. Sleet
and snow had been falling incessantly since the evening
before; the gingham dress of the young sempstress,
her scanty cotton shawl, and the black net cap, which,
leaving uncovered two thick bands of chestnut hair,
encircled her pale and interesting countenance, were
all dripping wet; the cold had given a livid appearance
to her thin, white hands; it was only in the fire
of her blue eyes, generally so soft and timid, that
one perceived the extraordinary energy which this frail
and fearful creature had gathered from the emergency
of the occasion.

“Dear me! where do you come from, my good Mother
Bunch?” said Frances. “Just now,
in going to see if my son had returned, I opened your
door, and was quite astonished to find you gone out
so early.”

“I bring you news of Agricola.”

“Of my son!” cried Frances, trembling
all over. “What has happened to him?
Did you see him?—­Did you speak to him?—­Where
is he?”

“I did not see him, but I know where he is.”
Then, perceiving that Frances grew very pale, the
girl added: “He is well; he is in no danger.”

“Blessed be God, who has pity on a poor sinner!—­who
yesterday restored me my husband, and to-day, after
a night of cruel anguish, assures me of the safety
of my child!” So saying, Frances knelt down upon
the floor, and crossed herself with fervor.

During the moment of silence, caused by this pious
action, Rose and Blanche approached Mother Bunch,
and said to her in a low voice, with an expression
of touching interest: “How wet you are!
you must be very cold. Take care you do not get
ill. We did not venture to ask Madame Frances
to light the fire in the stove, but now we will do
so.”

Surprised and affected by the kindness of Marshal
Simon’s daughters, the hunchback, who was more
sensible than others to the least mark of kindness,
answered them with a look of ineffable gratitude:
“I am much obliged to you, young ladies; but
I am accustomed to the cold, and am moreover so anxious
that I do not feel it.”

“And my son?” said Frances, rising after
she had remained some moments on her knees; “why
did he stay out all night? And could you tell
me where to find him, my good girl? Will he soon
come? why is he so long?”

“I assure you, Agricola is well; but I must
inform you, that for some time—­”

“Well?”

“You must have courage, mother.”

“Oh! the blood runs cold in my veins. What
has happened? why shall I not see him?”

“Alas, he is arrested.”

“Arrested!” cried Rose and Blanche, with
affright.

“Father! Thy will be done!” said
Frances; “but it is a great misfortune.
Arrested! for what? He is so good and honest,
that there must be some mistake.”

“The day before yesterday,” resumed Mother
Bunch, “I received an anonymous letter, by which
I was informed that Agricola might be arrested at
any moment, on account of his song. We agreed
together that he should go to the rich young lady
in the Rue de Babylone, who had offered him her services,
and ask her to procure bail for him; to prevent his
going to prison. Yesterday morning he set out
to go to the young lady’s.”